


solis occasum

by winluvr



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Introspection, M/M, Narration Heavy, References to Mythology and Art, Slight Hand Fixation, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25180465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winluvr/pseuds/winluvr
Summary: Whenever Futakuchi Kenji looks at the boy he has lived next to for years, he feels like the universe has come down upon him and graced him with his presence, but he never realized why he felt like this, until the night of their promenade.
Relationships: Ennoshita Chikara/Futakuchi Kenji
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	solis occasum

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry, i'm not exactly the best at dialogue or scenes or writing in general! i only wrote this to practice writing narration and i hope i can write more about ennofuta and hq in the future ^^

_“I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_ _in secret between the shadow and the soul.”_

_– Pablo Neruda_

Futakuchi Kenji has loved art since the first time he picked up another kid’s paint brush in the third grade and refused to give it back or, at the very least, put it down. In his defense, it was _clearly_ on the ground and the principle of finder’s keepers had been the way to go back then. He painted several thick red stripes on a piece of paper, deeming them to be a landscape of their neighborhood in Miyagi, and longed to create his own magnum opus in the future. He remembers that one afternoon as clear as day, as clear as the paling skies as the sunshine finally breaks through the wispy clouds. Since then, Futakuchi has grown up to appreciate art more than other people around him. 

Futakuchi is, by no means, an exceptionally skilled artist and he knows it. He has long, rough fingers and his hands are calloused all over from all the years of helping out in his father’s little workshop. His mother has always fondly said he had the hands of Hephaestus. He can only wish to be able to carve carrara marble as gently as Michelangelo or paint gardens as beautifully as Monet. His hands are nimble enough to fix all sorts of knick knacks with a terrifying accuracy yet no matter how he tries, he still hasn’t created anything worthy of being called a masterpiece. 

It is also a universally accepted fact that he has been in love with Ennoshita Chikara for as long as he has known him. It is a widely known and accepted fact that as of today, planet Earth has seven natural wonders. With all due respect to dearest Machu Picchu and the Colosseum, Futakuchi Kenji has spent his whole life wondering why Ennoshita Chikara isn’t one of them. 

Ennoshita Chikara’s family moved in one day to their neighborhood, right next to Futakuchi’s house. Unfortunately, young Futakuchi didn’t know love when he first saw it. He couldn’t recognize love when he first passed by it in the hallways or in the streets or in the bakery. He couldn’t identify love when they bumped fingers in the grocery when they were both reaching for the same packet of sour gummies. Futakuchi pulled his hand back like he had been electrified and looked up at the smaller boy who had a sheepish smile and sleepy eyes that crinkled into crescents. _“Go on, you can have it,”_ he had said that day. _“I’ll take the other one.”_

They entered the same school a few years afterwards. They had not known each other’s name yet because Ennoshita rarely went outside and Futakuchi didn’t exactly like other children but he couldn’t forget that smile, those eyes. He mistook love for envy, at first, and hated Ennoshita’s guts when he somehow beat Futakuchi at everything he tried to put his mind to. He hated Ennoshita because it was like he never even tried. Every success of his was effortless when Futakuchi had to work so hard to be great. 

He felt threatened, like Ennoshita was trying to take away everything he was good at. But when he finally found something he was better in, he gloated.

_“Ha,”_ Futakuchi had said one day in the sixth grade, _“I beat you!”_ He said it so proudly too, like he had been him at something exceptionally strenuous and nerve-wracking and not something like a Scrabble match held between four students at their school’s library that had more books than they had students. The Scrabble board had missing letters and their facilitator had to look up the words manually in a dictionary. But he beat them, and more importantly he beat _Ennoshita Chikara_ , and that was all that mattered to him in that moment.

The others simply scoffed at him, nodded their heads and said, _“Good game, Futakuchi.”_ Ennoshita smiled and bowed. _“Congrats,”_ he said that day, the smile never leaving his face. _“You’re really good at this.”_

They walked outside together to their respective classrooms, heavy rucksacks on their backs. Futakuchi decided to ask the question that had been boggling him. _“Why aren’t you reacting more?”_ he said. _“Why aren’t you more sad at your loss?”_

_“What is there left to say? You won and I’m fine with that,”_ Ennoshita said, leaving Futakuchi at a loss for words. They reached their own classrooms in silence.

Since then, he had challenged Ennoshita every time he saw him during their lunch breaks to stupid little duels. Somewhere between the few years they had been neighbors, his parents and Ennoshita’s parents became friends. In their first year of high school, they were in the same class. They bonded over oil paints in art class. He even nicked a few of Ennoshita’s potato chips during lunch break, leaving the latter to roll his eyes at his boldness. He even went along with his parents on their frequent visits to the Ennoshita household to discuss boring grown-up things like _boring_ tuition fees and _boring_ household appliances over _boring_ freshly-made green tea. 

Futakuchi couldn’t care less about that and they headed straight to Ennoshita’s bedroom to play the video games Ennoshita’s parents had bought him to keep himself entertained while they were out on business trips. That evening, Futakuchi beat Ennoshita countless times and Ennoshita simply stared at him, his face radiating childlike wonder. He realized very early that Futakuchi is not one to take to losing easily. 

_“What are you looking at?”_ Futakuchi had said, annoyed. _“Is there something on my face?”_ His hand instinctively reached out to touch his cheek. 

Ennoshita blinked at him. _“Nah.”_ He shrugged his shoulders and just smiled gently at Futakuchi. _“Why would I do that.”_ He said it more like a statement than a question. It was impossible to make a rise out of him. It was impossible to get the answer from him that Futakuchi was looking for. It was impossible to gauge what he feels or what he doesn’t feel. Futakuchi hated feeling uncertain more than anything else in the world.

_“Are you trying to make fun of me?”_ Futakuchi said. Ennoshita stared at him incredulously, like it was the strangest, most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. 

Ennoshita Chikara was impossible to figure out and Futakuchi was racking his brains back then _why_ he had suddenly become so interested what this boy thought of him and why somewhere in between the few years they had known each other, he found his heart rate quickening every time their hands touched and his cheeks heating up every time he ran into him in the hallways. He didn’t know why he enjoyed teasing him so much and he didn’t know why he was suddenly getting distracted in classes thinking about Ennoshita. He couldn’t figure it out himself so he asked around.

Interviewee A was one of the more timid and reserved guys he hung out with every break whom he secretly considered his closest friend among them. He just hoped he felt the same connection. Aone was pressing the buttons on the vending machine and Futakuchi decided to tag along. _“Aone,”_ he whined, _“why do I feel like this around him all the time?”_

Aone simply shrugged at him, taking a sip out of his box of milk. He looked at Futakuchi intensely, locking on to him like always did to others. Futakuchi felt a shiver up his spine. How could someone who was only about the same height as himself with white hair and strange eyebrows (or lack thereof) intimidate him so much with one look? _“You can figure it out,”_ he said. He had not been that much helpful but Futakuchi brightened up at being told that he was fully capable of figuring it out himself. They sat down back at the table.

Enter Interviewee B. In reality, the senior had butted himself into the conversation because he got a little bit pissed that Futakuchi was going on and on about some guy when he could be running his mouth talking to him instead. Kamasaki Yasushi had just finished chewing (extremely loudly and obnoxiously, for that matter) and said this in very few, sharp words. _“I have no time for your bullshit, Futakuchi.”_

He felt Moniwa, his fellow third-year, tug at his uniform sleeve, inwardly cringing at Kamasaki’s vulgarity. _“Language, Kamachi,”_ he said. _“Don’t say that in front of your juniors.”_ He said this like they were speaking to children, not guys just one year younger than them. They acted like a couple that’s been married for ten years sometimes. He smiled at Futakuchi. _“Don’t worry, you’ll be able to understand what it is soon.”_ He said this in a way that is almost cryptic, like a fortune teller or some oracle in ancient Greece and Futakuchi doesn’t know if he should still probe for details.

Kamasaki straightened up and retracted. He said with a begrudging sigh, _“stop being a musclehead and think about it. Think about why you keep thinkin’ about him.”_

Futakuchi blinked at him. _“What else am I supposed to think about?”_ he said. _“What do you mean?”_

_“You’re in love, you dumbass,”_ Kamasaki said, and that was enough for Futakuchi to feel electricity in his veins.

Futakuchi walked back to his classroom in a trance that day, almost like he was floating in his own shoes. _In love, huh. Am I really?_ Despite, or perhaps even due to, Kamasaki’s incredibly hostile, vulgar way of expressing himself and his way of ‘friendly’ bantering, Futakuchi was well aware that his senior was not one to beat around the bush and confuse someone as admittedly dense as him even more. But this time, Futakuchi couldn’t figure it out and good gods, it frustrated him to the core. Kamasaki had been so straight-forward and yet he couldn’t help but feel so dumb, so clueless for not realizing it earlier, it it really was true. How could thinking about his classmate leave him so hapless and so _flustered_? 

Futakuchi loved their art class. It was his only way of truly expressing himself that didn’t involve bickering and provoking other students. Sure, they didn’t do much besides listening to their teacher talk about artists and painters. Futakuchi could not bring his attention to the lecture for more than ten minutes. He looked around the room. He looked to his side and saw Ennoshita who was staring intently at the powerpoint presentation. It could have been sixteen or a hundred sixty slides and Futakuchi would have never figured out the difference. Ennoshita didn’t even flinch even though Futakuchi was sure he could feel his eyes boring into his neck. _What kind of godsent coffee did Ennoshita drink to have this much energy in class…_ Futakuchi felt his eyes drooping when their teacher suddenly raised their voice, snapping him out of his trance.

_“Face the person to your left and draw a portrait of them in a piece of paper,”_ their teacher instructed. Futakuchi sat up in his seat and wiped his eyes. 

Ennoshita looked at him and smiled. _“I guess we’re partners, huh?”_ He already had a sketchbook ready on his desk and Futakuchi didn’t know how quick things had happened in the short period of time he had spent floating in outer space, bouncing on the cosmos, whirling in the galaxies in his daydream. _Good gods._

Futakuchi fumbled in his bag for a decent-looking and unwrinkled blank piece of paper. He brought out a charcoal pencil that he had used too many times along with it. _Hnngh. Good enough._ He started to sketch Ennoshita’s face out, starting with his eyes. His eyes were a dark shade of amber and when he smiled, they crinkled into deep crescents. Futakuchi had always wondered why he felt his own heart dissipating in his chest whenever that _smile_ was directed at him. He drew his eyes with little white stars in the irises. He had thin eyebrows that seemed to frame and bring out his eyes even more. He had the same windswept hair as Futakuchi but somehow he even looked better and Futakuchi didn’t know whether to be offended or

_Oh._

_Yeah. It’s looking good so far._

_No. Wait._ Futakuchi paused for a moment to reevaluate his thoughts. The charcoal pencil suddenly felt heavy in his hand. The universe stopped moving under his feet. _Was this what Kamasaki was talking about?_

Ennoshita looked up at him. _“Oh, you’re finished already!”_ he exclaimed, adding a few final touches to his drawing. _“Let me see,”_ he said as he reached out to look at Futakuchi’s work. Their hands brushed against each other and Futakuchi could feel how soft and smooth Ennoshita’s fingers felt against his own rough ones. His hands felt like they were burning up in flames and Futakuchi felt his ears redden at the contact. 

_“Wow,”_ Ennoshita said and suddenly Futakuchi felt embarrassed to have his art evaluated by his muse. Ennoshita’s eyes scanned over the drawing quickly and Futakuchi fumbled with his hands, rubbing over the callus on his middle finger. _“This is amazing.”_ Ennoshita’s words belied no amusement, no hint of sarcasm, no teasing. His words were only ever genuine and kind and Futakuchi felt his heart swell with pride inside his ribcage, threatening to jump out.

_“No, it’s really not that amazing,”_ Futakuchi said, suddenly embarrassed to be praised by someone like Ennoshita. _“How about you let me see yours, then?”_

_“Ah, don’t be too disappointed,”_ Ennoshita retorted sheepishly, his hand going to his chin. _“I’m not nearly as good as you. You should be an artist someday.”_

_You should be an artist someday._ Ennoshita Chikara said that, and Futakuchi had never felt such a strong surge of confidence inside him. All his life, that was all he wanted to hear. All his life, he had longed that someone would tell him, just once, that his work was worthy of being admired. All his life, he had longed to become an artist but he had a severe lack of motivation to continue. Maybe, just maybe, Ennoshita sparked hope again deep within Futakuchi’s heart. Maybe, just maybe, Futakuchi was beginning to realize that he liked Ennoshita more than other, normal people liked the boy who sat next to them in classes.

For weeks and weeks, Futakuchi faced the same dilemma. _How the hell do you tell someone you like them?_ Futakuchi considered searching it up on Google, before telling himself that doing that was incredibly lame and not to be expected of someone who was apparently regarded extremely highly as him. Futakuchi is _cool_ . And cool people do _not_ search up articles about their feelings for someone on Google.

_Yeah. That’s definitely not what Futakuchi was doing._

Futakuchi had ten tabs open on the family computer. He inwardly wished that he wouldn’t forget to delete the search history so his little sister wouldn’t have to see how embarrassing her older brother could be. If only someone more experienced in the subject of… love… could write a WikiHow article called _How to Confess Your Feelings Indirectly to Someone Who Is Your Friend But Not Exactly Your Friend Without Making Things Awkward Between the Two of You in Case Things Go Wrong_ because something like that, in this situation, seemed particularly appealing to him. 

He settled on the tab titled _12 Simple Ways To Confess Your Love Without Saying “I Love You”_ that was written way back 2015. _Yes, perfect._ Futakuchi did not know love when he first encountered it but now, with wide eyes and an open mind, he could see art. He could see art in motion whenever Ennoshita laughed a little too hard, a little too loud and the world blurred between them. He could see a whole five years’ worth of Leonardo da Vinci’s work on Ennoshita’s lips. He just _knows_ that Ennoshita’s hands were carefully worked on by the god who created him because what else could possibly explain the way his hands were smooth and dainty, with neatly-trimmed long pinkish nails with white crescents, and yet impossibly strong. He could crush a small fruit if he wanted to. The thought of Ennoshita wrapping his fingers around Futakuchi’s neck flitted in and out of his mind. Futakuchi hadn’t always been sure if what he’s feeling is actually love but he knows only one thing: he _has_ to tell Ennoshita or he might go insane. _There is no place for cowardice._

_Do nice things for them. Good grief._ Futakuchi might really go insane with this one. He had never been nice to anyone. Sure, he helped his teachers out even when he wasn’t asked to and he did some nice things for the planet, meaning he put his crumpled candy wrappers in his slacks pocket instead of dumping it on the ground. You know, like every decent human being is expected to do. But he had never gone out of his way to be exceptionally _kind_ to someone. 

Maybe things might have to change from now on. Futakuchi decides to test it with his friend group.

As usual, Kamasaki starts the break with his mocking banters. When he sees that Futakuchi does not respond with a sly remark regarding his job search or his ‘old’ age or how his sideburns are reducing his popularity, Kamasaki’s smile drops and he gives him a weird look. “What? You ran out of your stupid retorts today?” He eyes Futakuchi carefully. “Are you sick?”

Aone stares at everyone blankly and Moniwa places his bun and drink on the table. “Who’s sick?” he says, slightly alarmed. “Do you need to go to the infirmary?”

Futakuchi’s eye twitches, but just barely enough to go unnoticed. “Ha. That’s funny, _Kamasaki-san.”_ He smiles genuinely and Kamasaki puts his heart to his chest dramatically. “No, it’s alright, Moniwa- _san._ ”

“What the _hell_.” Kamasaki looks at Moniwa. “Are you seeing this?” He looks extremely proud of himself for getting the bare minimum amount of respect a senior should get from his underclassman. 

Futakuchi fears that he might tear up and end up looking even more of an idiot. Frankly, he already looks idiotic enough with his sideburns that are not sandy blonde like the rest of his hair and the atrocious facial expressions he pulls when he’s agitated or excited or basically when he feels something other than bored. “Did you hear that? He used to call me a dumb brute but now he just used honorifics.”

“That’s not exactly something to be so happy about,” Sakunami states without even looking up from his science textbook. He brushes his fringe out of his eyes. ”Futakuchi-san, are you alright?”

Koganegawa is sitting next to Sakunami and is fiddling with his phone. His fingers are darting over the keyboard. _He must be texting little bowl cut already._ “Yeah, Futakuchi-san,” he says, “what’s wrong? You’re not acting like you’re on your period today.” 

“Cut the crap, Futakuchi,” Kamasaki says and Futakuchi nearly blows up. _Why must everyone question his ulterior motives when all he’s doing is being nice for a change?_

He excuses himself (and Aone, of course) to buy something from the vending machine. He buys two bottles of orange juice and hands one to Aone. He does not drink the other bottle of orange juice. Instead they walk idly around the school grounds, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of Ennoshita somewhere. He finds him in a secluded corner, sitting with his friends. Ennoshita raises his eyebrows up at him and smiles. 

“Hi,” Futakuchi says, tucking his hand in his pocket to hide how nervous he is, “I bought this but I don’t really want this anymore. You can have it if you want.” Aone gives him a strange look beside him but he does not say anything. _What a good friend,_ Futakuchi thinks, even though Aone usually doesn’t speak at all anyway.

“Um, okay. Thank you, Futakuchi,” Ennoshita says. “I’ll treat you next time,” he calls out, but Futakuchi and Aone are already walking away. 

Futakuchi hears Narita say “I didn’t know you two were so close.” (Ennoshita answered, “not really.”) He also hears Narita say “Then why did he give you that?” (Ennoshita shrugged and said, “I don’t know. You never really know with Futakuchi.”) But he does not hear Kinoshita say “He probably likes you.” (Narita retorted, “He’s _definitely_ into you.”)

And he most definitely does not hear Ennoshita say in a small voice, “I like him too.”

_Remember the little things they say when they’re talking to you. That’s easy._ Futakuchi has never paid anyone more attention than Ennoshita Chikara and the way his eyes light up like the sun when he talks about films, whether they are amazing blockbusters or indie movies or cult classics of questionable quality. 

Futakuchi had heard enough random trivia about Cloud Atlas and The Perks of Being a Wallflower and Lady Bird to last a lifetime. Frankly, he doesn’t really mind as long as it’s Ennoshita talking about them to him. _He doesn’t mind if it would last a lifetime as long as Ennoshita would spend its entirety with him._

Ennoshita Chikara could say that water is blue or that there’s a cockroach in his room or that planet Earth is the third planet in the solar system and Futakuchi would still listen to him with the same undying fascination and respect. _“You’re in love, you dumbass,”_ Kamasaki’s words ring true in Futakuchi’s ears. 

Futakuchi wonders how he can put his extensive movie trivia (courtesy of the aspiring director slash film critic slash photographer known as Ennoshita Chikara, the boy he’s been in love with for years) to good use. He thanks the gods he had enough courage to get Ennoshita’s number way back then or he would still be at a pathetic square one.

[ One New Message From: futakuchi ]

futakuchi: hi

sent: 1:27AM

futakuchi: are u still awake

sent: 1:27AM

ennoshita: Hello?

sent: 1:28AM

ennoshita: What’s up?

sent: 1:28AM

futakuchi: why r u still awake at this ungodly hour lol

sent: 1:28AM

ennoshita: You’re the one who texted first though?

sent: 1:29AM

futakuchi: oh yeah lol

sent: 1:30AM

futakuchi: have you seen titanic

sent: 1:30AM 

ennoshita: Um. Yes.

sent: 1:31AM

ennoshita: Everyone has watched Titanic.

sent: 1:31AM

futakuchi: haha lol

sent: 1:31AM

futakuchi: anywya did u know that james cameorn drew that charocal drawing of kate winslet

sent: 1:32AM

Futakuchi’s hands are shaking as he types. He feels nervous, as though it’s his first time texting someone _._ He sends Ennoshita a bunch of unsolicited movie trivia that he probably already knows but is too polite to tell Futakuchi otherwise. Futakuchi does not let on that he searched this all up just an hour ago. An article called _30 Movie Facts That Will Blow Your Mind_ stare mockingly at him on his phone’s reading list.

ennoshita: You’ve been making a lot of typos.

sent: 1:59AM

ennoshita: Do you want to call instead?

sent: 2:00AM

_Holy fuck. Did he just read that right?_ Futakuchi agrees immediately. With shaking hands, he fumbles in his bag to grab his earphones and presses the _call_ button.

“Hello, _Futakuchi_ ,” Ennoshita says, his voice light and breathy, like he’s afraid of waking someone up. There’s not much to say about it other than the fact that him calling Futakuchi’s name sounds like a choir of angels against Futakuchi’s ears and he wants it to be the last thing he hears when he is being sent off to dreamland.

“Hi,” Futakuchi greets and suddenly he’s at a loss for words. “You can just call me Kenji.” He curses himself for nearly stuttering, but who can blame him when the words feel awkward, foreign slipping out of his tongue. He has never asked anyone else to call him by his given name but somehow Ennoshita Chikara has made him feel comfortable enough but at the same time extremely nervous around his presence.

Ennoshita laughs and Futakuchi guesses that he put his hand over his mouth, gauging by the muffled quality of the audio. “Okay, Kenji,” Ennoshita says and Futakuchi nearly melts into a puddle on his bed right there and then. _Good gods, can he please call me that everyday?_ His words feel like an ethereal piano interlude to Futakuchi’s ears and Futakuchi has never really been a fan of classical music but he would go on his knees to worship Claude Debussy if he could create something as beautiful as Ennoshita Chikara’s voice. “So what did you want to talk about, anyway?”

Futakuchi glances at the lime green LED clock on his bedside table. “Nothing much,” he says. _That’s a lie._ If it weren’t for his bundle of nerves, he would have confessed right there. But he felt like it would seem hopelessly uncool if he confessed on an audio call at two o’clock in the morning. “I just couldn’t sleep. You?” 

“Yeah, me too. I don’t really sleep early anyway.” 

“It’s a good thing it’s not a school night.” Futakuchi has already run out of words to say. He curses himself for sounding so _lame_ in front of the one boy he felt like he needed to impress. “What are you doing right now?” Futakuchi props himself up on one elbow against his bed. 

“Well, you know, just talking to you,” Ennoshita says. “What did you really want to talk about? Or are you just making an excuse to hear my voice?” Ennoshita’s voice seems to drop by an octave and Futakuchi panics inwardly, because how could someone say something so straight-forward like that with a voice that’s so _calm_?

“No, I’m not, not really,” Futakuchi says. He winces at what he said. _Oh gods, that sounded lame._ How could this angel-eyed, windswept-haired boy leave Futakuchi flustered with only his voice? How could someone so calm and collected leave someone widely perceived as cool to a loss of words? “You’re the one who asked to call. Maybe you’re the one who wanted to hear my voice.”

“Touché,” Ennoshita says. Futakuchi imagines him smiling on the other side of the phone. “And what if I did?” Futakuchi’s heart explodes into a million smithereens right there. 

Over the course of a few days of constant texting and audio calls, a whole parade of shower thoughts and senseless rambling (mostly on Futakuchi's side, of course), Futakuchi learns a lot about Ennoshita enough to write a whole documentary about him. Ennoshita never video calls because he insists that he doesn’t want Futakuchi or anyone else, for that matter, to see the signs of his obvious sleep deficiency. He says that he looks like a bed-headed, sleep-deprived gremlin all the time. He says that if his daily dose of caffeine were to be stripped away from him, he would simply pass out on his couch. 

Futakuchi does not say that he would still find him pretty even when the lack of sleep is fatally obvious with his half-hooded eyes. He does not say that he looks pretty even when he can’t keep his eyes open due to his exhaustion and he can only manage a lazy grin. He only tells him to go get some sleep.

Somehow, sometime between the few weeks they had spent talking over text, Futakuchi had gotten it in him to wake up early enough to be able to buy two cups of coffee and go to school on time. Back then, he typically would only get to class only ten minutes before the expected time but now, he found himself getting up two hours earlier than he usually did.

[ One New Message from: kenji ]

kenji: hey where r u right now

sent: 6:29AM

chikara: I’m at the gate. Why?

sent: 6:30AM

kenji: no reason 

sent: 6:30AM

Futakuchi finds Ennoshita standing by the gate, as he said. Futakuchi reaches his hand out to give Ennoshita the cup of coffee. “I bought some coffee on the way. I felt like you might want it,” he says. He takes one look at Ennoshita and adds, “You definitely need this.”

Ennoshita laughs. “Thanks. Really, thanks a _lot_. I keep telling you I’ll treat you some other time, but you never give me the chance,” he says, the smile never leaving his face and somehow it manages to brighten him up. He looks more like an angel than he usually does, with his eyes twinkling and the wind blowing through his hair. Futakuchi wishes to reach out and tuck his hair behind his ears.

And he does keep his promise, because Ennoshita Chikara is simply a man of his word. Futakuchi asked him to model for a portrait again and somehow Futakuchi’s art has never looked any better. Futakuchi has never seen Ennoshita as merely a boy. He is a boy with such beautiful eyes and such beautiful hands and such beautiful _everything_ and Futakuchi couldn’t help but make masterpieces about him. He looked down at his own hands and suddenly felt powerful, like some obscure god of the arts had come down upon him. The fleeting thought that maybe Ennoshita could be the perfect muse for his art passed by his mind. 

This year’s promenade is coming up and Futakuchi Kenji knows exactly what he wants to do. First thing on the list is getting fitted for a good tuxedo. Honestly that sounds like hell to him because he would rather spend his time binge-watching Avatar: The Last Airbender while munching on the chocolate fudge brownies that his friend Terushima gave him. Terushima said that they were like edibles but just chocolate and they tasted almost like the real thing. Futakuchi didn’t know how to break it gently to him, so he just accepted it and they were half-baked and the bottom was still mushy but they tasted like heaven.

Futakuchi calls Ennoshita up the night before. Futakuchi does not hear one sleepy sigh nor a yawn. “Good god,” Ennoshita says the moment he picks up, his voice more awake and alive than other people at an ungodly hour of the night, “what do you want now?” His tone does not sound mad at all, only teasing. His tone never conveys annoyance, only fondness. It’s one of the things Futakuchi admires about Ennoshita. He can be so direct and straight-forward, but he never comes out as mean. He is blunt, but he is never unkind with his words.

“Hi,” Futakuchi manages to breathe out. “Wait, is this a bad time for me to call?” He inwardly wishes it isn’t. If anything, he would spend all day talking to him if he could. 

Ennoshita takes a while to respond. “Um.” The song “ _When You Say Nothing at All”_ can be heard in the background. “Yeah, sorry, I was just watching a movie. But it’s okay. Is there anything you need?”

Futakuchi smiles, even though he knows Ennoshita can’t see him. “Yeah. I just need your opinion on some clothes.” _That’s a lie, again._ This time, he just wanted to hear Ennoshita Chikara’s voice more than anything.

Ennoshita snorts. “Me? You need _my_ opinion on clothes? Can’t you ask, um, Aone-san or something?” 

“Well, ah, you know Aone-san would just nod to get it over with. And Kamasaki-san is not someone you would go to for fashion advice.” Futakuchi looks down at his wooden floor. “I just wanna look good for the dance, y’know? I’m not really good at fashion either.” _This, too, is a lie._ Growing up with such an intense, passionate love for art came with a fascination with high fashion. His mother owns enough fancy-looking clothing for him to know what looks good and what doesn’t, and he grew up dressing himself well enough, even inwardly criticizing people who have the means to purchase affordable but socially acceptable clothes but still wear horrific, inexcusably expensive clothing. But Futakuchi wants to impress this boy so much he would do anything to get his attention.

“Yeah, I understand.” Futakuchi can hear a kissing scene in the background. Futakuchi can hear his own heart beating inside his chest, so loud and yet barely audible at the same time. “Wait, I’m watching a _classic_.” One of the first things Futakuchi learned about Ennoshita Chikara is that he has a deep connection to Notting Hill because he grew up watching it with his father and until now, it remains as one of his guilty pleasures. “Alright, you can just text me a picture of the suit, I guess, and I’ll tell you if it looks good.”

“Are you going, by any chance?” Futakuchi says, his heart beating faster than he would like it to. _Damn, stupid heart, getting so excited over a stupid cute boy._ Futakuchi hates feeling so giddy like a teenage girl fawning over a crush more than anything else in the world. He does not take into consideration that he is _also_ a teenager with the biggest crush on the prettiest boy in his class. “To prom, I mean.”

Ennoshita shrugs lazily, as if it’s the last thing on his mind. “Eh, I’m still thinking about it.” Futakuchi’s heart drops a little, but maybe this just means he’s waiting for someone to ask him. Or maybe he’s just waiting to ask someone out. _But who?_ Futakuchi wants more than anything, for it to be him.

“Do you... do you want to go with me?” Futakuchi says, fiddling with his bedsheets. He feels incredibly uncool saying the words on an audio call but he knows that if he did it face-to-face, he would struggle to come up with the words. “Well, it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

There is a slight pause before Ennoshita answers. “Yeah. I’d love to,” he says. The background noise becomes barely audible to Futakuchi’s ears now. The words are clear, almost as clear as the sunshine breaking through the clouds on a rainy day, almost as clear as diamonds sparkling in the rough. Futakuchi knows that he would never forget this moment, not in a million years. 

_Moving on._ Futakuchi and his friends are now standing in the middle of clothing racks. Frankly, half of them kind of look like shit and Futakuchi wouldn’t be caught even half-dead wearing them. 

Futakuchi takes one glance at their price tags and declares, “This shit is expensive.” It’s a good thing the saleslady isn’t following them around or they would have gotten kicked out of the shop immediately.

“You know, I think the smart thing to do is rent it,” Kamasaki retorts, wracking through several rows. He adds, “but you are a _dumbass_.”

Futakuchi snorts. “I’m not about to take advice from old men who don’t do anything in their lives but hang out with their juniors.” 

“Is that how you talk to your _seniors?_ ” Kamasaki says, flabbergasted. “Where’s the nice Futakuchi who respected his friends from just a few weeks ago?” Futakuchi tunes Kamasaki out from his thoughts and decides to text Ennoshita for his opinion.

[ One New Message from: kenji ]

kenji: [ image received ]

sent: 3:33PM

kenji: is this ok or ?

sent: 3:33PM

chikara: It’s fine but

sent: 3:34PM

chikara: It's a tad too colorful?

sent: 3:34PM

kenji: i’ll keep looking

sent: 3:34PM

kenji: ^_^

sent: 3:34PM

Futakuchi sets his eye on the perfect suit and gives his thanks to the gods of fortune that he had enough money saved up to buy it. It looks good enough to wear for a promenade and good enough to wear when he gets married. _If_ he ever gets married, his pessimistic side reminds him. “That just means I'll have to get married right after I finish college, then,” he says, you know, like the total genius he thinks he is _. Do you seriously think you're still going to have that same suit when you're going to get married?_ He hears the more rational, passing thoughts in Kamasaki’s voice but he chooses to block them out. _Do you think you're going to be the same size when you're old? Do you seriously think someone in their right mind would marry you?_

[ One New Message from: kenji ]

kenji: hey this looks good right?

sent: 3:45PM

chikara: Yeah. You look great :)

sent: 3:45PM

Futakuchi feels his heart skip a beat, and it sounds like the most cliché thing ever, but Ennoshita simply has a penchant for reducing Futakuchi Kenji to a giddy mess, whether he would like to admit it or not.

The day of the promenade comes quicker than either of them would like it to. Futakuchi is looking at himself in the mirror, his heart hammering in his chest, when he feels a buzz in his back pocket. “Who…?” He glances at the caller id and sees that it’s none other than Ennoshita and suddenly he’s scrambling to text him back, his fingers darting over the keyboard.

[ One New Message From: chikara ]

chikara: Hey.

sent: 6:29PM

chikara: We’re picking you up

sent: 6:30PM

_Oh_. So that was what he was feeling like he forgot to do today. He suddenly feels nervous about riding in the backseat with Ennoshita. He hasn’t seen him in his suit yet and he isn’t sure if his heart is ready for it.

kenji: oh shit sorry

sent: 6:31PM

kenji: i was meaning to pick u up

sent: 6:31PM

chikara: I’m outside :)

sent: 6:32PM

The smiley face would seem mildly threatening or suspicious on anybody else but from Ennoshita, it just looks adorable to Futakuchi. He steps outside and his jaw nearly drops. Ennoshita has his usually windswept hair gelled upwards and his eyelids are shining with glitter eyeshadow that’s barely visible but brings his eyes out even more. Futakuchi believes in angels now. _This is the work of the gods._ He can see it so clearly.

Ennoshita fiddles with his thumbs, a habit Futakuchi noticed he always had since he was little. “You look really good,” he says, his cheeks reddening. “I mean, I already saw it but you look amazing tonight.”

“Oh, shut it, you,” Futakuchi says, embarrassed to be praised by someone who looked even more heavenly than him. “I should be the one saying that to _you.”_

“Let’s go,” Ennoshita says, grabbing Futakuchi by the forearm, and Futakuchi’s brain nearly short circuits with the way his hand feels against his skin.

The venue of their promenade looks _fancy,_ to say the least about it. It seems like their school spent too much on the catering and the venue and the decorations, but Futakuchi doesn’t say a word about it. He’s too busy sneaking glances at his own date and how his eyes are twinkling even brighter than they usually do, how his lips are impossibly smooth, how he smells like champagne eau de cologne and a hint of something sweet. The tables are covered in long, white lace tablecloths and decorated with flower petals. They are sitting at a huge, round table with their friend groups, all of them not exactly interested in dancing and more interested in eating the sweets the buffet has to offer.

The music, slow and sweet, blares through a speaker and drifts through them. The students’ faces were bathed in the bright, flashing lights. Koganegawa is the first to speak. “Hey, guys,” he says. “I’m just going to ask Tsutomu to dance.” _Tsutomu._ The way he utters his name is so _sweet_ , rolling off his tongue like something he’d gotten used to. He leaves the table, his legs striding over to where Goshiki stood, laughing with his friends _._ Futakuchi looks at the scene of Koganegawa and Goshiki dancing, their movements a little bit awkward but the way they smile at each other was sickeningly sweet. Futakuchi couldn’t help but smile at the thought of someone so clumsy and unwieldy like Koganegawa could look so graceful in the slow embrace of someone like Goshiki Tsutomu.

Meanwhile, Narita is already chewing on a chocolate chip cookie. “You want one?” he says, offering one to Ennoshita. “You should eat more, honestly. You’re already so thin and sleep-deprived at that, too.”

Ennoshita sighs and takes it to get Narita off his back. “Thanks. Don’t eat too much or you’ll get sick.” He looks at him again. “Wait, why don’t you ask Hisashi to dance?” Narita looks back at him, alarmed. “Oh, Kazuhito, don’t tell me you don’t like him. Come on, now’s your chance.”

“Are you sure? What about you?” Narita asks, his brows furrowed. “You should dance with us.” The thought of the three of them dancing together looked so absurd that they both couldn’t help but laugh. 

“And _what,_ look like a third wheel?” Ennoshita smiles, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Go on, I’ll be fine.” He takes another chocolate chip cookie and savors the taste of it, until Futakuchi stands up and reaches his hand out to him. 

“Can I have this dance?” Futakuchi asks. He thanks the gods that the flashing lights dimmed enough to hide the growing blush on his face. 

Ennoshita smiles up at him, taking his hand in his own. Futakuchi’s hand feels warm against his own cold one. “ _May_ ,” he says, causing Futakuchi to roll his eyes at him. “Yeah, sure, why not. I’d like that.”

The dance floor is filled with people and it feels hot against their skin but when their hands are around each other, suddenly the world stops at the hot, sweaty, moving bodies around them feel like they aren’t there anymore. “I’m not really good at this,” Futakuchi confesses once they’re in the middle. He feels his ears redden when Ennoshita looks up at him.

“Me neither,” Ennoshita says, putting Futakuchi’s hands where they’re supposed to go. Futakuchi’s hands feel stiff against his waist, but he smiles up at him. “Relax, _Kenji_. Let’s just enjoy ourselves, yeah?” 

Futakuchi Kenji had always been sure that he had two left feet judging by his complete lack of coordination when dancing, but tonight, their bodies sway back and forth, their feet somehow moving in perfect rhythm. Ennoshita takes the lead and Futakuchi has never felt more immensely graceful. Ennoshita is looking up at his eyes and Futakuchi suddenly feels the words slipping out of his tongue faster than he can stop them.

“I think I might have feelings for you.” Futakuchi wants to retract and dig himself a deep hole into the ground, but he looks down at Ennoshita and he sees how beautiful the smile growing on the corners of his lips is.

Ennoshita laughs so hard that he has to cover his mouth with his hand. “ _Might?”_ he splutters. “I’m literally in love with you. It took you long enough to realize your own feelings.”

_Oh_ . _This is really what Kamasaki is talking about._

Futakuchi feels his face burning up, as if he had been directly exposed to the sun. Ennoshita’s smile feels warm against his face, in the sense that is cozy. It does not burn nor does it sting. “Shut up,” he says, suddenly feeling the courage, “I could kiss you right now.”

Ennoshita raises his eyebrow up at Futakuchi. “I hope you aren’t all bark and no bite.” Futakuchi is leaning closer to him and Ennoshita tips his head upward and suddenly there is no space left between them. Ennoshita’s lips feel so soft against Futakuchi’s that it leaves him feeling like he can’t _breathe._ He tastes like peach-flavored lip balm and chocolate chip cookie crumbs and it is blowing Futakuchi’s mind how one person could taste so good. They can’t feel other people’s eyes on them anymore. Futakuchi feels light-headed between Ennoshita’s arms and his knees feel weak, like they’re giving up on him. 

The kiss ends faster than they both would like it to but sometime before they get home, they end up kissing again where nobody can see them.

“Is this okay?” Futakuchi breathes out, his rough hands trailing over the soft fabric of Ennoshita’s dress shirt and he is so sure there is static electricity running between them. Futakuchi swears Ennoshita has the hands of a god and they feel like fireworks going off against his skin.

Ennoshita nods helplessly, his mind too occupied with the sight in front of him. “Yes, _yes_ ,” he manages to say, his voice raspy. His grip is so tight on Futakuchi’s brown hair and his skin feels so warm against his.

Blue skies pale to pinks and purples and under the clouds, Futakuchi Kenji’s heart explodes. He has finally found the perfect muse and he is sitting with him beneath the sunset, no longer needing to love him secretly. Futakuchi has always loved art. In art, he had found his purpose. But maybe he just loves Ennoshita Chikara a little more, because in him, he found the love, the tenderness, the passion he had spent all the years of his life looking for. He hopes this night never ends, because they have never felt any more immortal than tonight, their hands tangled around each other. He was all he had ever asked for and even more.

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed this please feel free to leave a kudos or a comment, i would appreciate that soooo much as a first time writer╰(´︶`)╯♡
> 
> if you want to follow me on twitter, my @ is yuujicult hihi i don't tweet much but we can still be mutuals ~~


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